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Taricorim's writing journal

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(2 Darcys | single man of good fortune)

*pokes journal* [01 Dec 2004|05:51pm]

For the safer sex challenge.

Really short NC-17. I thinkCollapse )

(1 Darcy | single man of good fortune)

[12 Jan 2004|07:21pm]

Unfortunately, have not been writing much fic lately--I'm focussing on original fiction for now, which I don't want to post here in case I might wish to submit them in the future. But here's something:

Serve the Meal, Serve the Maid! (And One More for the Bedpost) By Taricorim

The Hogwarts castle was deserted. Not a single student wandered its halls save for Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle. Even the ghosts were gone, and, as unlikely as the thought was, Argus Filch seemed to have found better occupation than terrorising students this Saturday.

Yes, that was the effect that the first warm, sunny, dry spring afternoon of the year tended to have. And it was a Hogsmeade weekend, too; most of the students weren't even on grounds, much less in the castle.

Which, while it provided much needed solitude--Crabbe and Goyle were non-entities--did not bode well for Draco. The number of notches of his bedpost, which tracked Draco's (formidable, if he did say so himself) sexual prowess, had not increased since his Valentine's Day tryst with that fourth year Hufflepuff. What was her name? Cho Chang? No, that was the one at the Yule Ball.

A sound other than Crabbe and Goyle's knuckle cracks came from behind Draco. He whirled. Blaise was standing there in a slitted green gown that was cut so low that Draco was very thankful, indeed, for the professors' absence. She--was it a she? Despite having slept with it three times, Draco did not know--preened and stretched, sauntering up to Draco with a slight swagger. 'Sodomise me, Draco,' it whispered throatily into his year.

Draco backed into a window. 'N-no,' he said, 'I'm, ah, busy today.'

It looked disappointed. 'With who?'

'Ah, er....' A peal of laughter rang from below. It was a group of fifth year girls. At the edge of the group, with her flaming locks shining in the sun, was Ginny Weasley, coincidentally one of the few girls at Hogwarts whom Draco had not yet seduced. 'Her!' Draco announced triumphantly, pointing.

'Oh,' said Blaise dejectedly. Then it smiled, showing feral teeth. 'Can I watch?'

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(3 Darcys | single man of good fortune)

[23 Nov 2003|09:59pm]

By Taricorim

She was eleven, a silent, young thing, arrogance built into her cheekbones.

She was twelve, a cynical thing, bitingly cold, red lips twisted in disdain and haughtiness.

She was thirteen, a furious, darksome thing, sharp of tongue and quick of mind.

She was fourteen, bitter, arrogance built into the curve of her neck and the poise of her spine, dark hair thick and sleek; eyes black as coal.

When she was fifteen, she came to me, murder in her eyes and silver on her tongue, and she touched me--just there, briefly, I who had never before felt the caress of a woman--and I was hers.

I had resisted, at first. Oh, how I had resisted, resisted until my loins ached and my nightmares bled into my reality. Yet, she continued to haunt me and hunt me. I was crazy; I deserved to be locked up and never allowed to come into contact with my students again. Let not a madman pollute these pure, sweet halls!

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(single man of good fortune)

Bed of Bones [24 Oct 2003|09:01pm]

Bed of Bones
By Taricorim

'Mommy, why is there a skeleton in the closet?'

Nerves. Nerves were what got me in, and nerves will get me out. Nervous--very nervous, in the few days before. And she didn't help things, always talking, talking about her days, her friends, her trips, jabbering away in that high-pitched voice. It was irritating. What was I supposed to do?

They say that the first murder always feels ethereal. This was not ethereal; this was the most real thing that I have ever done. The feeling of warm blood splashing onto my face, her last shuddering breath, the wild struggles calming into stillness.... It makes me feel alive. And why not? Blood for blood, strength for strength, life for life.

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(single man of good fortune)

Ever Faithful, chapter 1 [21 Sep 2003|04:14pm]

Ever Faithful
By Taricorim

Chapter 1: Of Birthdays and New Beginnings

My childhood ended on the day I turned five years old.

My first years were happy; I lived in a large mansion in the heart of London, on an estate ringed with rose gardens. My father was a respectable figure, a capable businessman, and a loving parent. My mother was an heiress; her father was a wealthy French aristocrat who, upon his death, bequeathed most of his money and belongings to his only daughter.

As for myself, I was raised as an only child. My elder brother died merely three hours after his birth, I was told.

My parents doted on me, that much I remembered. They lavished their affections upon me with no restraint. From a young age, I was pampered with toys, clothes, sweets, and servants. They called me "princess." Every autumn, they would hold a magnificent ball in honour of my birthday. I remember shrieking with surprise and joy as I opened the gifts... a doll of porcelain, with satin robes and buttons of ivory, a trinket for true royalty. A gilded, leather-bound storybook with inks of all shades shimmering on the pages. Yes, birthdays were always festive in our manor.

It was on the fifth such occasion that my luck and happiness had deserted me. Maman was to come from Bath, where she was visiting with her old friends. In the mean time, preparations were are whirlwind of fever and craze.

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(single man of good fortune)

The Aerysil, chapter 2 [08 Sep 2003|08:32pm]

Chapter 1 here.

Disclaimer: characters and situations belong to J. R. R. Tolkien and Christopher Tolkien.


The Valley of Ungolianth

On the fifth day of their journey, they came at last to the end of the forest and the foot of the mountains. Their travel thus far was unhindered, through trees and shrub. At one point, a low-lying, minuscule Bush attempted to drop a bomb on them, under the delusion that they were dictators of third-world countries who possessed dangerous nuclear weapon. The only weapons that they were carrying were the bow of Lórien, arrows, and long-knives--one of which he gave to Emmelyn, for protection, though she insisted that she did not need it. Thankfully, they managed to evade the Bush's attack, though Legolas vowed vengeance.

They stopped as the mountains loomed before them, uncertain of the road. Legolas again cursed himself for not thinking to put in preparation.

'Whence do we go from here?' asked Emmelyn.

Legolas frowned. 'The Valley of Ungolianth lies yonder, beyond the Mountains of Caladhon, where the Valar first came to Arda. We shall climb the mountains.' But his face was troubled.

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(single man of good fortune)

Stories by date [01 Sep 2003|08:04pm]

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(single man of good fortune)

Stories by length [01 Sep 2003|07:53pm]

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Fics by character or pairing [01 Sep 2003|07:35pm]

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(1 Darcy | single man of good fortune)

Duty and Sacrifice. R [01 Sep 2003|07:01pm]

Duty and Sacrifice
By Taricorim

'Last night's dinner was good,' he tells me. 'We need to do it again some time.'

We both know which dinner he is referring to.

'What are we having tonight?' He comes up and nuzzles the back of my neck. His arms are strong and smell of that new cologne he bought, the one he knows I always liked. Except that I don't like it.

I push him away slowly, almost playfully. 'What would you like to have, Draco?' My voice is the perfect mixture of docility, politeness, and seduction.

His mouth twists into a smirk, tickling the back of my neck. 'You,' he said.

Languidly, I turn in his arms to look up at him through my eyelashes. I lower my voice to a throaty whisper. 'I think that might be arranged.'

His eyes widen with surprise and lust. He pulls me tight. His lips are heavy and rough upon my own, his hands quick and eager with the buttons on my blouse. The fabric feels thin against my breasts--bare, just the way he likes them.

And through it all, I play along. Acting, always acting, for what else do you do, when you're the wife of a Death Eater?

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(1 Darcy | single man of good fortune)

The Aerysil, chapter 1 [31 Aug 2003|10:38pm]

Prologue here

Disclaimer: characters and situations belong to J. R. R. Tolkien and Christopher Tolkien.


Of Rewards and Wishes

Shadows crept through the forest, covered the leaf-strewn ground, their fingers brushing at the maiden's illuminated form. She had been walking for four days, in from the shore. Food was plentiful in this land; the trees bore upon them fruits, warmed in the sun and sweet upon the tongue, and bushes were laden with berries and leaves. Brooks leapt across beds of rose-coloured rock, their waters clear and cool.

On the fifth day, she was waylaid by a band of elves, hunting in the forest. They were the servants of Varda. Their leader, Olondwë, was tall and stately, and of few words. The maiden was brought to Valimar, and there greeted by Varda herself, and beside her Manwë, high king of the Valar.

'We welcome you,' said Varda, 'to our city. We know of you, protected of the Ilúvatar; you will always have a place among us.'

The maiden nodded graciously, but was confused, for she knew not where she was. Indeed, she did not know even who she was, or why she was there.

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(single man of good fortune)

The Aerysil, prologue [31 Aug 2003|10:33pm]


Disclaimer: characters and situations belong to J. R. R. Tolkien and Christopher Tolkien.

A/N: For Emma. Have a loffly birthday. *schnoogles*


The Aerysil
By Taricorim


The Sun hung low in the clear, azure sky, shining down amid the trees lining the shore. The waves in the ocean frolicked gently, rolling upon themselves, like children at play. Heat rose from the shore and languished in the late-afternoon air. High above, a giant eagle circled, its eyes ever trained on the earth, watching, waiting.

On the sand lay a lone figure. It stirred and sat up, shaking the dust from its eyes, and looked about in barely guarded wonder and confusion. It was a maiden, with nutmeg hair that caught in its mesh the radiance of Laurelin and the cool darkness of the trees' shadows. Barely visible were the pointed tips of her elven ears. Her eyes were a blue to rival the sky, but held within them the farthest reaches of heaven. She was a creature of light and dark.

She stood, dusting herself off, and in the move noticed her shift--a silken, grey raiment that shimmered in the light, at times shining with the fiery red of the sunset, at times gold like the blooms of elanor on a far away and long-forgotten shore, or pure white as niphredil. She frowned, fingering the material: it shone in the ebbing light with an ethereal light, banishing from its midst all shadow. The maiden shook her head; she recognised the work of her kin, despite centuries of removal.

Laurelin's fruit inched under the horizon, and the stars winked into existence. Eärendil gazed down upon Valinor from his abode, and saw the Elven maiden fair, and blinked in awe.

At length, the maiden turned inland, to the forests and valleys of that land, the land that had been blessed by the Valar. She walked.

Up in the sky, the eagle, watching no more, veered away.

Chapter one here.

(single man of good fortune)

Red Roses for a Queen [31 Aug 2003|10:30pm]


Disclaimer: characters and situations belong to J. K. Rowling and Warner Bros.


Red Roses for a Queen

Every night, he brings me a rose, a single red rose. So perfect in its fragile beauty that I gasp in awe each time, reaching out with shaky fingers to caress the petals. Night after night, he comes at the darkest hour, bearing before him the flower and his soft, coated whispers: subtle, yet sharp as a silken sword.

I had asked him why, once, long ago. Why did he do this? Always, at night, he is there, the light pooling in the doorway behind him. And always, at night, I go to him, leaving the darkness of my rooms behind me. A pile of dried and broken petals lies upon the stony, grey floor, dust and long-faded memories gathering in its midst. The scent of roses surrounds me.

He had laughed, then, his dark eyes alight with mockery, his voice clear and bell-like, echoing through the thick air. "Why, my little virgin girl?"--he had always called me that, long after that first night, when he had taken me into his dark chambers, and there claimed me for his own--"because it is what you are. Such a pretty face, so sweet, so delicate and innocent, so deceiving. Soon, my rose, soon you will be much more. Soon, the world will feel your thorns."

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Where love rules, there is no will to power; and where power predominates, there love is lacking. The one is the shadow of the other.
~Carl Jung

(single man of good fortune)

Blood and Sex [31 Aug 2003|10:28pm]


Disclaimer: characters and situations in this story belong to J. K. Rowling and publishers; no copyright infringement is intended.


Blood and Sex

If men want women for sex, then for what do women want men?

The answer is obvious, of course: the same.

Draco Malfoy had been brought up to distrust. It served him well, during his school years and beyond.

He distrusted his family. It was one of the first lessons that he had been taught: not even those who had raised him could be trusted.

He distrusted his friends. Rarely did he let on his true secrets, or reveal his true face. Very few among his friends knew that he had disdained Voldemort, or that he had received 10 O.W.Ls, or even that his favourite colour was indigo.

He distrusted his enemies for more obvious reasons.

But, if he distrusted his friends, it was nothing to what he felt for women. To him, women were items to be used, cherished, kept ignorant, and ultimately discarded when they lost their freshness or became too nosy.

So, when pretty, redheaded Ginny Weasley showed up at his door one day and, ignoring his questions ('what do you think you're doing? How did you manage to get past my guard trolls?'), proceeded to shag his brains out--metaphorically, of course--it was only natural that Draco Malfoy would be suspicious.

But she deftly avoided his questions, and, after a few tries, he gave up; there was more than ample distraction. What little small talk that they made thereafter was entirely impersonal--conversations about anything from current wizarding politics, to the weather, and even to the Wimbourne Wasps' humiliating defeat at the hands of the Chudley Cannons last Saturday.

Somewhere in between ordering the house-elves to bring up caviar and musing on the (questionable) merits of Jennifer Ehle, Draco Malfoy found his eyelids growing very heavy, and they soon closed altogether. Well, he thought before succumbing to his sleep, at least I've found a good substitute for a sleeping drought.

When next he woke, the silken sheets beside him were cool in the faint light of dawn, and the chamber was completely devoid of any sign that she had been there, save a faint scent of sandalwood and frankincense perfume that disappeared when he shifted.

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(single man of good fortune)

Lucius/Ginny. 544 words. Hard R. [30 Aug 2003|09:51pm]

Expected to eventually become a chapter in The Book of Secrets, a series of drabbles set during Harry Potter's school years, but without the bias of his POV.


The scene looked like something out of a Muggle horror flick. No trace of the earlier celebrations remained; people were running in all directions, shrieking and colliding into each other like the plebeians they were. And above it all hung, glittering bright green and rising slowly in the sky, a ghastly facsimile of the human skull with a serpentine tongue and black caverns for eyes: the Dark Mark.

All my fellows have long since gone, fleeing from the sight of our Lord's sign. Quickly I shed my cloak and mask and vanished them with a quick spell. The Weasley fool and his fellow Muggle-lovers would be tied up for a while yet, but it was best to be safe.

A small figure ran into me with a slight squeak and fell back. I looked down at the distasteful creature. Flaming red hair, ragged and patched robes, a smattering of freckles across the bridge of the nose and cheekbones. Ginny Weasley.

She had grown. And not merely physically, either. No longer the meek little girl to whom I gave my master's school diary, this Ginny Weasley blinked up at me, dazed. Her face fairly flowed with expressions. Confusion. Recognition. Shock. A grimace, close and drawn. It settled at last on a dark scowl.

'Where is Arthur?' she snapped.

'Up there worshipping the Muggles, no doubt,' I said languidly, waving a vague hand at the spot where we last left the Robertses. 'Filthy blood traitor that he is.'

'How dare you!' she spat, springing up to attack me. Evidentially, blind Gryffindor courage ran strong in her.

I caught Ginny by the wrist and dragged her into the forest to my right. 'How rash you have grown in the months since my Lord left you,' I whispered into her ear.

Cut for... er... inappropriatenessCollapse )

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